The Other Brother
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: A play on the movie "Coraline". Alfred and his little brother Matthew move into a strange house, one where not only do the borders of reality disintegrate, Matthew's own morals are reevaluated and tested once he is plunged into the button-eyed world with the "Other Brother".
1. Moving In

1. Moving In

"Come on, I'm sure you'll like it," Alfred said, heaving a box from his truck and setting it on his porch. Matthew sat on the porch, watching his older brother pay the trucker and wave him off, grinning happily. His golden hair contrasted heavily against the bleak sky.

Matthew sighed and remained silent, inspected the wood below his feet.

"At least help me get the boxes in," Alfred responded, patting Matthew's head as he entered the house, carrying two boxes at a time.

Without much choice and loaded with boredom, Matthew obliged. He picked up boxes he had written "books" or "clothing" on. He had fallen sullen ever since he and Alfred had moved out of their apartment in the city. Alfred insisted a home would be better for a teenage boy Matthew's age and would lighten up the poor boy's attitude. There was also the alternate reason which was to get out of the stuffy city. The deal on the house was worth it.

Matthew walked up the spiraling stair case to his room. He opened the door, a puff of stale air pumped towards him. A mattress already sat in the middle, relatively clean. The high ceiling allowed for optimum light to collect from the lengthy windows, although any light that did come in was drag and murky. Matthew set the boxes down and continued downstairs, grabbing a load from Alfred and putting those in the living room.

Another half hour and the brothers had completed the transaction. Matthew sat on the stair case, watching Alfred rift through a box of silverware, tracing patterns in the dust.

The house, or what they owned of it, was two stories high with two bathrooms. Two bedrooms and a bathroom were situated on the top floor and the rest of the cramped rooms were clustered on the bottom level. Matthew pulled his red sweater tighter around him, hiding his hands in the sleeves while he regarded Alfred's work.

Alfred stopped once he reached a box of Christmas ornaments to look at Matthew. "If you aren't going to be of any help then why don't you go explore? Meet the neighbors, how about. There are some upstairs and some others downstairs. It would be nice to get to know them."

"But aren't they old? I want to meet someone my own age," Matthew grumbled, adjusting his glasses. He looked out the window. The bruised sky gave no hint of an oncoming rain shower, unfortunately.

"I know that, but I doubt there would be any kids."

"Yeah, 'cause you moved to the middle of nowhere."

"It's not in the middle of nowhere, Matthew. It's a short drive from the rest of the town. Cheer up, please?"

"Maybe I would if you didn't choose this cruddy place to live in."

"Matthew…" Alfred warned in a dark tone, pulling out several pillows and setting them on his lap.

Matthew stood and walked around him, heading towards the door and knocking the pillows off of Alfred. "What are you, my mom?" He growled, insulted for some vague reason.

"No, I'm not Mom," Alfred responded. "And you control your temper. You're a teenager and I get it, but you have to make do! Would you rather live in the streets?"

"Well stop acting like mom! You'll never be her. You can never match up to what she could give me because you aren't that much older than me." Matthew said, turning a blind ear towards the latter half of the sentence as he trudged out the door, his back towards Alfred's hurt expression. He felt bad about yelling, but the stress had caused even his tender personality to crumble. He pulled on his raincoat, just in case, and trudged outside, sloshing through the dirt with his head bowed.

Alfred picked up a picture frame, hearing Matthew's dragging feet faintly sound outside. The melancholy photo was of his family, all gathered together; his father still in contact and his mother alive and well. He rose to his feet and set it on the shelf above a makeshift fire place, probably already unusable. Still, he fancied the idea of having his mother by a warm spot. Maybe she could help him raise Matthew just right.

Matthew would just have to get used to it, Alfred decided, sitting down on a chair that came with the house. The kid had suffered enough without his parents, and now he was ripped away from his familiar setting and friends and placed in a drab environment with strange people and even stranger circumstances. But Alfred found a job in these parts, one that would pay better and possibly get Matthew through college. If only he could look past his own immediate needs and realize how much Alfred labored over him…

Alfred realized also that he was overestimating a teenager and resumed parting his supplies. The floorboards overhead croaked. Alfred grunted, standing to his feet and deciding to pay his upstairs comrade a little visit.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia nor do I own Coraline. There will be some subtle changes in the plot here and there, by the way. _

_-Willow_


	2. The Well

2. The Well

Alfred left the house, as there was no way to go upstairs through his own home. The other side of the building had long been sealed off. He caught sight of Matthew in the foggy distance, picking up a small stick and looking curiously at a slick cat. Alfred thought he caught a timid smile as the boy reached for the cat, which slipped right out of sight.

Chuckling to himself, Alfred traipsed up the creaky stairs. Each step moaned under his breath and he knocked on the door. At once a dozen mice at least poured out of a small crack and slid around Alfred's feet. He had no problem with the furry bodies, but still stepped away from the stream. It may prove that he had no neighbor and the upper house was infested with mice and rats, possibly infected.

However the door opened and dark eyes met Alfred.

"Are you the new neighbor?" The stranger said in a thick Russian accent, unlocking the door and revealing himself further once Alfred replied in the affirmative.

"Well I'm Ivan, it's a please to meet you newcomer!" Ivan said. He was tall, taller than any man Alfred knew. His chest was brought but not of chiseled physique. His clean silvery hair fell just short of his nape. Alfred held out a hand and Ivan's huge ones engulfed him in a merry shake.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Ivan. I just moved in with my little brother."

"Alone?" Ivan asked, gesturing Alfred to enter. Alfred did so, sitting on a spindly wooden chair, clasping his hand on his knee. The room was like an attic only half refurbished for living requirements. Curtains hung around all windows, giving the room a faint reddish glow. Ivan was at a kitchen-area. There were only two rooms in the home, one that contained a bathroom and the other everything else. An untrustworthy looking bed sat in the opposing corner from Alfred.

"Yeah, just the two of us," he replied, accustomed to such queries. "Our parents have had a rough past and left us for one reason or another. We lived in the city and I got a job opening here. Plus, the schools seem to be great."

Ivan set a tray of warm, amber colored tea on a stool beside Alfred. Alfred helped himself to his cup and a round cookie.

"That is so sad," Ivan said, his big eyes turned in such sorrow that Alfred didn't feel the usual disgust he did towards pity.

"It is, isn't it?" Alfred bit into the cookie. A little dry, but addictively flavorless, save for a hint of strawberries. "What about you?"

"Oh I come and go in health. I have two sisters who are off doing what they want and all. I moved here for a job too," Ivan grinned, sipping his own tea. "How is your little brother? The move must be hard on him."

"It really was. I doubt he'll forgive me for a long time."

"I'll never forgive him," Matthew said at roughly the same time, out in the sparse garden. He kicked a stone in front of him, speaking to no one in particular. The cat did make an excellent audience, he noticed, and directed his words at it. The cat mewed as he continued to complain with all his pent up teenage woes.

"Forgive who?" Another voice, complete alien to Matthew, said. Matthew whipped around, holding out a stick he had in front of him.

The speaker was hardly a year older than Matthew and shockingly icy in appearance, from his voice to his very eyes—which were silver in color. His hair was pale blonde, almost white.

"Who are you?" Matthew asked, building up his courage for a forceful sound but it only came out as a little squeak.

"I'm Emil. My uncle owns this place," Emil gestured to the building dismissively. "Who are you?"

"Matthew, I came with my brother. We just moved here."

"Is he the one you won't forgive?" Emil said, kicking in front of him and revealing a ring of metal. He continued to remove the dirt. "You will in time."

"What are you? Some wise guy?" Matthew mumbled, feeling less and less outgoing by the minute. His shock was dissolving and quickly being replaced by shyness.

"I'm much older than you, for a fact." Emil dropped to his knees and grabbed the edge of the metal. It popped open.

"How old are you…?" Matthew asked, but a gush of stagnant air came from the hole in the ground and his question was overran.

"A well…" Emil shrugged, "I didn't know it was here. Sorry, what did you ask me?"

"Nothing," Matthew said. Emil bent down again. His shirt collar rode down, revealing a freckled neck, along with a thin scar just barely visible there.

Emil rose back to his feet, shutting the well with a clatter and dusting his front off with an air of aristocracy. Behind Matthew, the cat appeared again, its black coat matted with dust. It peered towards Emil shamelessly. Emil stared back at it, but the cat apparently won and he pulled a strip of meat from his pocket and gave it to it.

"You always keep meat there?" Matthew asked.

"No, just for this cat," Emil said, patting its head. "It always follows me. He keeps telling me to not feed it and it will go away on its own accord."

"Who?" Matthew twirled a branch between his fingers.

A voice shouted in the distance; a gruff male one. The words were undistinguishable. Emil shouted back and was comforted by an impatient reply. Their shouts were of a language completely foreign to Matthew who could only listen and try to remain calm.

"Him." Emil responded to the question, "And he wants me to go help him with something. I'll see you around then," Emil waved and started back downhill, pausing as he reached a large, flat stone. "Oh, and I'd get rid of that branch. It's poison oak."

Matthew dropped it with a stifled yelp.

"We're here hardly a day and you already get in trouble," Alfred said, barely hiding a grin as he put ointment on Matthew's irritated hands.

Matthew refrained from comment, save a sour glare.

"So tell me, this new guy, will he be at your school? You two could be good friends and there you go, a buddy to help you through school already!" Alfred gently wrapped the wound.

"No, he's way older than me apparently."

"That could mean many things, Matthew. He could be using a hyperbole and really mean he's just a year older."

"I don't know, he looked way over twenty."

"Did you ask him?"

"No."

* * *

_I apologize for the inconvenience, but I used "Emil" as a human name for Iceland as that was the most fitting name I saw and the most often used, in my experience. _

"Good, because that's way rude." Alfred stood and clapped Matthew on the back. "Tomorrow you should meet the neighbors, they're nice people. At least the upstairs one is."

"I saw him, on the balcony. He waved to me."

"Did you wave back?"

"No! He was gross, all hairy and kind of sweaty."

"I'm hairy and sweaty, now go upstairs and wash up. I'll make dinner."

Matthew grumbled a string of curses as he stomped up the stairs. He tried to ball his fists but they stung too much for such an action to carry through successfully.


End file.
